It's Not About the Bike

Today's song is a children's classic.  Everyone knows it and everyone has some way of interpreting it.  Puff the Magic Dragon has been sung by us all I suspect and like lots of my songs has no place on a blog about the Arch to Arc (not that this blog has that much to do with the Arch to Arc).  Basically, it's here because Puff the Magic Dragon lives by the sea.  So taking that into account as his residence he probably knows a fair bit about things of a nautical nature, and may have seen a few swimmers, although I have always believed him to be a solitary character.  When Little Jackie paper fails to show, I get the impression that Puff has few other friends to share his time and his life with.  When I was little I felt so bad for Puff, and today, at this moment in time I feel very much the same. We all need some friends.

Much has been written about this song being about drugs; Puff = marijuana, Jackie Paper being rolling papers.  Listen to it and you realise that is a nonsense interpretation.  Puff the Magic Dragon is a piece of imagination.  Jackie Paper is a boy who grows up and, as we do, loses his imagination and we see a reversal of reality as the fantasy (Puff) watches the reality (Jackie) disappear.  Even today the line, "A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys" makes me nod my head in sad recognition.  If only that didn't happen.  Being grown up is bloody difficult if you ask me.  

And if you still think there is a hint of drug use, check out this video from 1965.  Are you telling me that Peter, Paul and Mary were really rolling up backstage?

Having got that off my chest, I am struggling to make a link with that and the Arch to Arc. Maybe the Arch to Arc is my little fantasy and it offsets real life.  Yes,  there is a lot of  truth in that.  When you read this blog the natural end is the moment of the event itself.  But for me the hardest part of all this is having a long lead time to the start of the event and trying to negotiate the life that one leads whilst trying to get to the start point.  Every time life hits me with another brick I have to take the knock and carry on.  Since I signed up for the Arch to Arc, so many things have happened in my life and when I look back and look to the future I cannot comprehend how I can carry this project through without at some point being knocked off balance. My fear mounts and I am scared that the voice inside me will cry "enough's enough" and make me stop.

But it's very close now and with two and a half months to go, I just need to hold my nerve and keep going.  The Arch to Arc has become a place of escape and meditation.  The endless hours in the sea or running have been my place to chew over life's problems.  Not  that I think very deeply.  I can spend 50 minutes thinking about someone who pissed me off at work in 1989 but at some level it is ridding me of some of my more recent stresses.  And I need that at the moment. Yes, I really need that.

You will notice that I refer only to running and swimming.  I rarely, if ever, mention the bike leg of this event.  I think we should get this into context.  The bike from Calais to Paris is 180 miles.  Even by Tour de France standards that is longer than any one day stage that they will cycle.  But set against the depleting effect of an 87 mile run and the technical, physical and mental stamina needed to complete the swim the cycle ride is a the least frightening of the stages I need to tackle.

The cycle is a such a crucial part of any triathlon, but definitely plays third fiddle on this event.  I am used to some monstrous cycle rides - I have done a couple of 200 mile + cycle rides and on one, never to be forgotten event, managed 336 miles.  Just to pause for a moment, I cannot describe how glorious it felt to get my arse off my bike saddle after a 336 mile ride. I have always liked cycling.  Travelling long distances under your own steam is immensely satisfying.  But training on the bike is really time consuming.  When you are looking at the training needed to go above 200 miles it takes a lot of time out of your day, especially if you are a "so-so" cyclist like me.  I used to be off at 5.30 am and not back until Midday and still feel I hadn't achieved much.

On the other hand learning to be a Channel swimmer has certainly taken a lot of time up but it is only recently that the mammoth swims have really begun to happen. 6 hours in the water is a mammoth swim whereas it's not such a long time on a bike. Well, obviously it is, and it could be time better spent learning Spanish or how to bake cakes, but relatively speaking is what I'm talking about.

I can't project. I would love to tell you my dreams of how it might feel to cycle into Paris with the rest of the event successfully completed.  But I don't want to do that.  Sadly, I am now an adult and my fantasies have made way for realism and self doubt.  Where are you Jackie Paper?  Come back!

Humility

Okay this week's swim song is a total shocker, but it's title couldn't be more apt. It's 10cc's Channel Swimmer, which I think was a B-Side to one of their hits.  You have to hand it to Godley and the other fella in the band, they went to great lengths to fit a single conceit into a song - the idea of "crawling back to you" - front crawl - geddit? As a potential Channel swimmer I can't help getting cross with the lack of swimming knowledge displayed by members of a 70's soft rock band who were touring the world, taking drugs, earning vast amounts of money and driving fast cars.  You think that they would have had some time to do a little research into Channel swimming.  Honestly, like anyone would try and swim the Channel putting backstroke above crawl. (Maybe I'm missing the point in my small minded way...) Where they do get it right is the line "Who's be a Channel swimmer? Only a fool like me.".  Now that I do relate to.

Last weekend I was at the Enduroman long distance triathlon championships, helping out with a bit of marshalling and lap counting.  You have do to a serious amount of lap counting because at the championships you have a 200 mile run, a 100 mile run, a double iron distance and for those who really suffer from a  chasms in the soul;  a triple iron.  It was here in the New Forest that I have cut my teeth over the past three years taking part in both a double and triple distance triathlons.

As I was driving up I was telling my mate Rob about what a great bunch of people he would meet (Rob, you may remember is my running friend.  18 months ago he had never run more than a couple of miles and I went out running with him and briefly patronised him, by saying things like "You can do this Rob",  "Dig deep" and "not far now" as we built up his mileage.  He now leaves me trailing miles behind him, and although he is a lovely, lovely bloke I secretly harbour intense jealousy and a bit of resentment at how hard he has worked.). I really meant that.  This festival of ultra running is not what one might expect. The people who rock up for a weekend of extraordinary feats of endurance are very normal, very self effacing and so supportive of one another.

If I go to a traditional triathlon it is a different atmosphere altogether.  At the start line you are confronted with a wall of chiselled featured middle aged men, eyeing the water with a steely determination. (There are women and other age groups, but look at the demographic breakdown of any established triathlon and it is predominately male 35 - 49.  Together we can change this, folks).  There is very little banter and humour and the atmosphere is charged with testosterone.  At the start of the swim people will swim over one another to get a better position and the ensuing melee has sometimes given me panic attacks.  These very "nice", polite middle aged men turn feral once they hear the starting gun fired.  God knows what they are like in the boardrooms up and down the country.

Avon Tyrrel is a different atmosphere altogether; the swim start to the ultra triathlons is the utmost in politeness with competitors shaking hands, hugging and letting other competitors get in the water before them.  During the cycle sections and the run, we happily chatter, share food and drink and give lots of encouragement to one another.  I am still in touch with the guys from the year of my Triple Iron and many others from this strange clique.

Why the difference?  All of us came through the alpha male supercharged triathlon route, yet none of those aggressive attributes can be found when we race at endurance level.  My theory is that it is all about humility.  No one can approach any endurance triathlon or a 100 mile run with anything but humility. (By the way, Rob gets this.  He came second in his 100 mile run in the New Forest.  I have managed to avoid speaking to him ever since.)  When you know you are going to swim 7 miles, cycle 336 and run 78 miles you give those distances the utmost respect.  You know that you are attempting something that may allow you to compete, but could spit you out at any time.  For a short period of your life you find your hold on finishing an event to be very precarious.  You don't know if your amazing body (we all have an amazing body - please treasure it) will allow you to do this.  You don't know if distance will grind you to a halt.  You don't know if your mind will just stop supporting you and will suddenly, and it is very sudden, make you stop.  This stuff is way bigger than me and I just trust that today may be my day.

I have a magnificently huge ego.  I am now persuaded that I don't make the sun come up or go down at the beginning and end of the day.  I know that there are some things that are bigger than me.  One February I had picked my way across Striding Edge on Helvellyn and I stood at the base of the final steep climb up to the summit plateau.  Nothing hard or technical.  But at that moment in time as I stood on my own looking up at the track ahead, I felt so infinitesimally small, so insignificant - a fleeting visitor who was briefly allowed safe passage on a mountain. And so it is with ultra events.  I am like a guest at a party way out of my social comfort zone.  I won't be able to stay for long but if things go well, I may have a glass of orange,  a quick dance and make a few friends.  I hope the Arch to Arc allows me to briefly join with it. I hope it smiles on me in September.  I am only asking it to look out for me once.  I will give it the utmost respect.

The Arch to Arc (2)

First off is the swimming song:  I've really gone obscure here and rifled the archives for a song I used to really like.  If you were into Indie music at the turn of the millennium a band called JJ72 briefly dented the charts with this little song "October Swimmer".  I add it to the collection because open water swimming in October is one of my favourite pleasures.  The lakes are cooling and with the drop in temperature comes a drop in the number of swimmers.  The triathlon season is out of the way and so those lakes that remain open get a small hard core of people who swim for pleasure.  October is special because it can still be warm both in and out of the lake and sometimes the lake water can be warmer than the air above it.  This creates a light mist which is fascinating to swim in.  Quite eerie, but also very calming.  Last time I wrote about the sensory experience that motivates me and I omitted to mention one of the most beautiful phenomenon that I have ever seen.  It was the last weekend of swimming for the year and I was in a lake near Hitchin.  I was swimming with a small group in this ethereal mist and as we swam the sun came up and got warmer and warmer. Instead of the mist gradually disappearing it receded into the middle of the lake and for a brief moment was like a mysterious cloud hanging there.  And then it was gone.  Beautiful.  Where was I?  Oh yes, JJ72.  I bet no one remembers this song or has even heard it:

So it's been a big few weeks; the 100 mile run is done; I have begun to go down to Dover for sea swimming; I successfully completed a 6 hour sea swim off Weymouth. On Monday this week I took part in a 10k swim and knocked 35 minutes off last year's time, and on Sunday this week I will be taking part in a 35 mile run. Interspersed with this is 90 to 120 miles of cycle commuting and very early morning swim sessions three times a week and also run sessions where possible.  It is a lot of training, and it dominates my thinking now with three and a half months left before the attempt.  I want to get this right.....

Eddie Ette was the first person to succeed at the Arch to Arc in 2000.  He made it on his third attempt and made two of these attempts in one month.  He is passionate about people achieving their goals and has helped me in many ways including taking me out for my 6 hour Weymouth swim whilst he fished for mackerel.  When he succeeded in 2000, Eddie had already soloed the Channel in 13 hours and yet took 17 hours in a wetsuit for his Arch to Arc. Such is the cruelty of the Channel. He held the course record until 2012 when a guy called Mark Baylis smashed the swim without a wetsuit and romped to Paris in a faster time.

I won't have more than one shot at the Arch to Arc.  This road has been very long and I have put a huge amount into it, but despite what I say about having lots of willpower, I couldn't train like this for another year.  Anyway, it costs too much and I want to live on fresh lobster and other posh stuff like cranberry juice and food that doesn't come with gravy.

It's been a blast; I have continually found myself staring down long roads that stretch out ahead of me, believing that getting to the end would be impossible.  It started with that marathon in April 2001. I was so physically and mentally fucked when I entered it on November 22nd 2000, that it seemed a sheer impossibility, but the journey from that point onwards has been astounding.  That marathon led to a sprint triathlon, and that led to an Olympic distance triathlon at Windsor.  I ate gallons of pasta for weeks beforehand, unsure as to whether my body would be able to complete a 10k run after a 27 mile bike ride. Having completed that and subsequently many other Olympic tri's there came the moment when someone said I should attempt an Ironman.  Surely that was the pinnacle of all athletic achievement and the preserve of the tri gods?  No, it isn't anyone's preserve;  Mildly overweight middle aged men like me could complete them, and I romped in to the grounds of Sherborne Castle as high as a kite in August 2007 having completed a full Iron distance.  More Ironmen followed and then came the double Ironman.  The double was crucial because it gave me the confidence to look at the Arch to Arc and so in the Autumn of 2011 I signed up for an attempt scheduled for September 2014. That would give me such a long time to train and be in a position to succeed. So, that's all good then.......

........last night I read my diary from May 2013.  It's not pretty reading.  I had just completed the Windsor 10k and had been one of the stragglers.  I had also been speaking to Channel swimmers and discovering the truth about the enormity of attempting a Channel swim.  I kept hearing the same phrase; "so-and-so had a swim background".  I didn't have any background in anything.  I couldn't even swim in 2004, let alone have swimming badges from the 1970's to sew on to my big swimming shorts. So, at this time last year I was facing the fact that I was not really a contender and hadn't fully understood what I was signing up for.

I don't feel like that now.  Two crucial things happened.  I met a guy called Nick from Eton school who had soloed 7 times.  He told me that to swim the Channel you needed, yes, you guessed it, a "swim background".  I told him I hadn't got one and he told me that in that case I should speak to a man called Uncle Ray who had a swim school in Canary Wharf. Ray has worked with me these past 12 months and firstly deconstructed and then reconstructed my stroke. He has changed everything and the swim times I am posting are testament to what a good coach and a bit of practice can do.

Secondly, I am blessed enough to know a Kiwi by the name of Dave Dawson.  Dave is a great swimmer, but he has always generously supported my endeavours.  Whenever I have done an endurance triathlon, Dave has sponsored me generously and always come along to offer assistance.  Dave knew I didn't have a snowflake in hell's chance of swimming the Channel, but he knew I could probably manage the other parts of the event. So, last year, unprompted, he paid for me to join his sports club where he swims with a tremendously talented and committed group of swimmers three times a week.  Suddenly, I was swimming with people who were pushing me hard all the time and survival meant that I had to adapt.  As a real swimmer, Dave knew that this would be my salvation.

The result of all this is speed, technique and the beginnings of self belief.  Don't think for a minute I think this is a done deal.  I am still an outsider and I may have a 50:50 chance of getting across.  Combine that with my mental endurance and there is a possibility that I could reach the French coast (I wonder what Dave really thinks...).  If I do it will be because of these people.  

So, one more long road to look down.  I can't see the end yet, and I can't imagine finishing, but perhaps the horizon is looking more distinct.

Into the Mystic

I

I love that title.  If you don't know, it's the name of a song on a Van Morrison album.  It was one of those songs that I knew but had put back into my mental file of music, probably never to be played again. I was never really a fan and Brown Eyed Girl has been played so much I didn't want to hear Van Morrison's voice in any hurry.  Then the daughters of a great friend of mine bought it back to my attention when I put a shout out for nautical songs. They suggested it as a great song about the sea (and lots more) and as I listened to it once again and the lyrics took on new meaning for me.  There is probably no other song that resonates so much with me in terms of what I am trying to do and this whole endurance trip.  I just love the lyrics - it want them in my head when I swim the Channel.  So whilst you listen I may as well talk about the mystic....

Yesterday I was bringing my daughter back from swimming.  She pretends that I am really old and uncool (ha, as if!) , but when there is just the two of us she will drop the veneer of teenage disinterest and ask questions.  Yesterday, quite unprompted, she asked me "dad, why did you decide to do long distant stuff?"  It's a good question and I went down my usual route of explaining how,  as a drunk, I didn't want to speak to anyone other than other drinkers.  Nobody else interested me apart from one other special group:  That group was people who had done the marathon.   I was fascinated by them.  It astonished me that anyone could physically push their body to run 26 miles.  26 miles! How?  A friend we had who was training for the marathon back then in the 90's asked me to imagine running as far as I could see and then running back to give me an idea of the training distances a marathon runner needs to achieve. I got the image and it staggered me in its immensity. It was also that immensity that closed the marathon off from me. I may as well have been on Mars and the London marathon, well, in London.  I continued to live in my prison and I can distinctly remember swaying about outside the house, pissed up, smoking a fag, and feeling so sorry for myself (as I frequently did, back then) bemoaning the fact that I would never ever know what it was like to run a full marathon.

So I was explaining all this to Lucy when the car headed out into the open countryside on the way to the village where I lived and there in front of us were miles of  fields under a deep blue evening sky. You now what:  I bloody love the countryside.  I love it with a passion.  I could stare at green fields for hours, watching clouds scud across the sky.  So I said to Lucy, "See all those fields, well, the reason that I love long distance is because I could park this car now and just run and run and run through those fields and I need never stop. That is why I continue to do endurance events!" (It probably wasn't said with such precision, but you get the idea.)  And sometimes I do just take off and run like I told Lucy. The other week I just went out early morning across the fields without any plan.  I just knew I wanted to get lost in the Spring countryside.  I stuck to small footpaths that threaded through the fields around us of bright yellow rape and took in any Bluebell wood I could find. I ended up running about 18 miles without ever feeling tired. If you follow me on Twitter, there was a barrage of images from that run. 

It is on those days that it's possible to slip "into the mystic"; it's a world where miles per hour, heart rate, laps, stroke count, cadence, become meaningless.  I think, and this is my opinion only, that if you want to really go long you need to move into a different way of thinking to get the most out of it.  Distance and time are irrelevant and all that matters is your own existence in the environment.  Every thing needs to be of the moment, and by appreciating that the moment will pass, you can begin to appreciate that the pain or fatigue that your event is causing will pass too.  From that, you can begin to understand that the tough times will fade and you will regain some comfort, which in turn will be replaced by pain.  And so on. Now, it may sound a bit new age and Guardian to a lot of you post industrial Westerners out there but bear with me. People tell me it's not logical to be able to swim, run and cycle these huge distances.  It obviously is, though - I am no athlete, but by rethinking this stuff and living in the moment I know that each moment leading to the next, leading to the next and so on, will eventually see me to the finish line. The countryside is one place I can really feel inspired to put this into practice.  I would probably struggle a bit more if the Grimsby marathon was staged around their industrial areas. I find inspiration in pleasant surroundings. A long distance challenge is merely a metaphor for life: it starts out pretty jolly, seems quite easy and after a while you brimming with confidence.  But then reality hits.  You have the first challenges and the distance doesn't seem quite so easy, but you come through it.  And those highs and lows tend to characterise the journey all the way to the finale.  But I hope that when you reach the finish line you look back on it all: the highs and the lows, the views with all their contrasts and think that overall it was worthwhile.  That's my ambition.

Over the 14 years I have run, cycled and swam long distance here are some of the moments that I can still touch in my mind's eye.  None will really translate onto a page, but every one was a privilege to be in the moment with.  I treasure them:

The sun coming up over Hertswood on one side of the trail I ran whilst on the other side a bright full  moon was setting and I ran between the two spheres.

Cycling through a parade of horse chestnut trees heavily laden with blossom on the way out to St Neots. Spring 2012.

The white frost-blasted hedges on the tiny road behind where I live.  The icy wind of the night had frozen everything in one small area a brittle white, whilst everywhere else was dull and brown.

The "ghost ship" rising out of the mist on my relay Channel Swim with the sun rising behind it.

Staring down at fields shrouded with low white mist whilst on my bike. Cycling down into the mist, whooping with joy.

Being caught in storms so heavy that you can only laugh at the sheer intensity of the rain.  Laughing out loud.

2am, cycling through the Lincolnshire fens.  No sounds apart from the whir of the cycle chain.  Totally isolated, totally quiet. As in the moment as it is possible to be.

Toiling up Bison Hill on my bike and being passed by a beautiful red Ferrari . I said to myself that if someone offered to give me that car but I would be prevented from ever cycling again, I would turn down the offer of the car.

This morning; cycling into work.  Blue skies above, summer warmth beginning to break through, feeling fit as I have ever felt.

So that's it. If you want to go long, get spiritual.

PS Have I mentioned the flip side of the mystic?  So dog tired you want to lie down in any ditch and sleep.  You stink, your breath stinks.  You started throwing up at mile 30 and you have another 40 miles to go.  You can't eat anything but you will stop if you don't.  Your head aches.  You're scared about your body packing up. 

I'll leave that for another day.........

Fear : Running 100 miles

A cop out this week on the song.  I have said that I would always post something with a nautical theme, but having just run a hundred miles for the first time I thought something running related would be more "on message" this week. Compared to songs about swimming there are so few songs about running.  Strange, as both words/actions are great metaphors for our life - well, they are for me, maybe not for you with your big houses, fancy gadgets, manicured lawns and general well being.  There's Springsteen's "Born to Run": my colleague, Alex has reminded me of Velvet Underground's "Run, Run, Run" - not the most accessible of their tracks and there is of course the safe, middle of the road choice of Snow Patrol's "Run" which I like for lots of reasons, one of which is that I can make a passable attempt at it on the guitar. Sadly, it has no link to the kind of running that I am about to talk about. Here it is:

In this blog I don't want to pontificate too much on cod psychology, or move into clichés about stuff I know very little about, but I fancy having a stab at "fear".

I am dominated by fear.  Always have been.  I sometimes wonder if I'd get up in the morning were I not motivated by fear of bed sores.  That weak joke has an underlying seriousness to it.  That kind of fear makes me do something, but for too long fear made me inert.  It stopped me from doing stuff.  The usual nonsense of "what will people think if I do this...", "It might make me uncomfortable" etc., etc.. Of course the crippling fear that created a prison was fear of addressing addiction.  The concept of life without booze was so far off the scale of consciousness that it it didn't matter where it took me, or how low I felt, I was too terrified to address it.  Then on November 22nd 2000, a door briefly opened and terrified as I was I crept through it into another room.  In the new room there was a bit more light (I'll be honest - it wasn't blinding) and I had a lot less restrictions, and the fear I had felt about giving up what I genuinely believed was the essence that defined me, left me.  A master of understatement would describe it as a good move..

But don't get me wrong.  Fear has never left me and it remains my constant partner.  We seem to be on a road trip together with Fear sitting right up front with me in the truck fiddling with the radio stations, constantly distracting me and trying to stop me going to the destinations I might enjoy.

The good thing is I have sometimes learnt to ignore Fear.  I can now stop listening and give something a bash despite Fear's constant internal chatter.

Every stage of the journey to endurance events has been a confrontation with something that scares me.  That first marathon in 2001, my first triathlon, my first Olympic Distance tri, my first Ironman and so on and so on have all caused me sleepless nights.  I have had stress dreams and psychosomatic pains in my legs prior to events.  The dreams are always to do with me being late to the start, or forgetting my swimming kit, or my trainers.  All of it adds to my fear.   I become distant and appear preoccupied before a "biggie".  But I now press ahead with the journey. That bloke Webb, who was first to swim the Channel said "Nothing great is ever easy." He was right about that.

That first triathlon I mentioned is a case in point.  I was rigid with fear before it.  But I suspected this "triathlon" thing might have some benefit.  I was/am so incompetent that my bike fell off the back of the car on the way to the triathlon.  My wheel was buckled, and I could so easily have turned around and come home.  I really wanted to.  But I went up to Bedford, completed the tri, was heavily patronised and was out of my depth.  But I still did it and was so proud of myself.

So that has subsequently become my modus operandi.  Are you scared to try something that you suspect may have some benefit? See if the door is slightly ajar and tip toe through it.  You never know what may happen, but it may well  be better than what you had before. I am lucky enough to know a guy called Dan Earthquake ("Dan" is obviously not his real name).  He made one of the epic Channel crossings of 2013.  22 hours in the sea.  I was with him  a few weeks before he set off.  His philosophy was so spot on.  "Well, Paul, " he said, "I don't mind what happens, but I do know that it will be adventure."   http://coldwaterculture.blogspot.co.uk/

Dan is right.  That attitude of "just give it a try" will lead to all sorts of adventures and challenges.  It can broaden your horizon of experience. You learn a little bit more about yourself, too.  This weekend I ran 100 miles in an event called the Thames Path 100. (NB This event sells out.  Why, oh why, oh why?)  I have never done that before.  I was terrified about the concept.  I'm slow and I knew it would be torturous.  But I do now have a new mantra of "well, give it a try, no one's going to die" and then I can see where it leads, so I went for it.  I really wanted to test my mental capacity for continuing when I was shot to pieces.  I think that this will stand me in good stead for the Channel, when so often I am told that it is people's minds, not bodies, that give up.  So, on Saturday I started off from Richmond Town Hall at 10am and trotted along the banks of the Thames for 26 hours until I reached Oxford.  100 miles in one go...

The day that I spent running was a constant mental battle.  On one hand was the fear in my mind telling me again and again "it's too far, it's too far" and on the other hand there was the logical regulation system saying, "it's okay.  You're in good shape.  Nothing bad is happening.  Keep going." (This is sounding like a Thomas the Tank Engine story.) Fortunately, my regulation system won, and at Midday on Saturday I arrived at the finish.  Bloody amazing feeling.

                                                          Quite possibly happy to finish?

When I do an event I subsequently blank out the pain and give myself images that make me think it wasn't too bad.  This bastard joke my brain plays then makes me book some other stupid event. But on Saturday/Sunday I was privileged to run through the night, which was other worldly and quite spiritual and I was then witness to the most beautiful sunrise.  I have got to know a new happiness.

                                           5.30am Sunday 4th May 2014 Thames Path 100

Willpower

Song for the week is a bit like me: it's pretty old and extremely unfashionable, and check out his voice - definitely effeminate.  However, it is metaphorical and doesn't really appear to be what it is on the surface.  This second sentence does not apply to me.....I once met Al Stewart and did that thing when because I had no reference to him apart from songs I couldn't think of anything to say.  I think I managed, "You write songs" and he said "Yes", which was kind as he probably didn't need me to tell him what he did. I need to polish up my small talk.

      Dark and the Rolling Sea - Al Stewart (now I see why my dad used to moan about long hair.                                                                       It's just not right...)

It's been an early Saturday morning, same as always.  I went down to the local lake at Welwyn which has just opened up for swimming.  I had some guys from a well known news agency photographing a filming me.  They want to chart my progress and put a multi media presentation together of the whole event.  Today was to get to meet me and then test out some of their equipment.

It all got off to a poor start. We arrived at 6.30am on a dark, drizzly morning to find that I wasn't allowed to swim without a wetsuit. It's not the worst news I have ever had, but part of the training for the Channel is about acclimatising to cold water.  The fact that I may well use a wetsuit for the Arch to Arc means that I wasn't too bothered, but I prefer the freedom and masochism of natural swimming. Nothing breathes more life into the body than a cold water swim. I even have a weird affection for the pneumatic grip of the shivers that can loosen your fillings. Anyway, the guys were able to film and get me to do swimmy things which I wouldn't have been able to do had I been shivering my nether regions off in the cold.  Poor old Dave D who had come for one of his stupid fast swims hadn't got his suit and just hung around with the guys, whilst what should have been an hour long swim turned into a two hour Vogue wetsuit shoot (that is obviously not true).

Dave Dawson, High Priest of Umbrellas, patiently waits whilst Neil and Lee take pictures and I take pictures of them. I am in the lake at this moment.

But talking of masochism I guess it might be assumed that there is a darker side of my psyche that allows me to push myself to levels of pain that would appear to be self harming.  I understand that, apart from the fact that I am terrified of pain and in doing all these events do my damnedest to avoid hurting.  Sure, I go to some pretty dark places mentally, but the overall sensation of completing a big event is a sense of achievement and satisfaction that I find hard to describe.  And so, junky that I am, I keep going. I think I understand why I can keep going.

When I used to drink so destructively, I thought I was weak.  My friends and family reinforced this by saying stuff like "use your willpower - just stop after a couple", or "your problem is you have no willpower".  Both viewpoints, helpful as they were meant to be, were missing the reality of a life threatening situation.  Firstly, no amount of willpower will help a person deal with addiction. The less travelled road to recovery is down a completely different path where willpower serves no purpose. No human power can match up to an addiction.  Secondly, and here is the paradox of addiction, it was only when I got sober and talked to some very knowledgeable people that I discovered that part of my problem was that I had willpower in spades.  It takes a very determined, very committed person to stand at a bar at lunchtime and order a pint of strong lager when he is still reeling, suffering and nauseous from the night before.  But I could do that day after day after day.  Now that is willpower!

Nowadays I don't do that.  But it became part of my life to use that tremendous capacity, that strength of will,  to keep going in a more constructive, more satisfying way.  So now, when I am in those dark places 60 miles into a 78 mile run,  suffering, reeling I tap into that willpower.  I can take the suffering because the end game is worth it.  And I remind myself every single day of my life that no matter how hard an event is, it is nowhere near as hard as it was when I stood at those endless bars day after day exercising my willpower and sinking from sight.

Mallorca 2 Long Distance Swim Training and Jellyfish

I have had this idea.  I like to post my nautical based song once(ish) a week but I suspect that by the time anyone has read the meandering introduction to the song their tea will be ready and they will never have time to listen to it.  So my suggestion is that I get the song intro over with early in the post and then you can listen to the song whilst reading the rest of the post.

With that in mind I'm going for something a bit lateral, but a top quality song, should you be a middle aged man with an interest in indie music.  There, who said I don't believe in inclusion.  Great song by the Black Keys - "Little Black Submarines" - get it?: 

I've just had a week away in Mallorca on a Swim Trek Long Distance Training Camp.  Notice I use the word "camp" as in "boot camp" and not as in my mannerisms.  This is because too many people still refer to my Mallorcan "holiday". Let's get this straight, there was nothing remotely holidayish about this and it was seriously hard work.

I was with a group of 16 swimmers, almost all with a strong background in swimming.  There were people like me - Channel aspirants, as well as a few who had already soloed and also some strong long distance swimmers who just liked, well, swimming long distances.

The aim of the week was to build up confidence and stamina in cold water with a view to many of us completing a 6 hour sea swim on water below 16 degrees.  We were in luck (I use this word ironically, okay) the water was not much above 14 degrees.  To normal people that is the same as a really cold bath.  You know, the sort of bath you'd jump out of shouting "fuck, fuck, fuck" before turning on a scalding tap for ten minutes to guarantee a habitable temperature.

The first day was a 1 and 2 hour swim and I remember thinking I might die of exposure in the first hour. But, as is the way perseverance led to the temperature becoming acceptable. After getting out from both these swims we were all shivering and in some distress.  At that point the thought of completing a 6 hour swim in these conditions seemed beyond the realms of possibility.The following day was a 2 and 3 hour swim and the discomfort and distress was the same.  In the morning two hour swim I remember after 30 minutes that my feet had become numb and thinking that my body would shut down way before the two hours was up.  And yet, and this is where I become amazed by what our bodies are capable of: my internal heating systems continued to adapt to the cold and I finished the day feeling warmer than when I had started.  The body seems to adjust to its environment if you are prepared to let it and can mentally stand the initial shock of a hostile environment.  The natural response is to get out, but if you shut your mind down and persevere your body's thermostat works in your favour.  It is a sensitive organism too.  I was amazed by how my skin could sniff out warm currents and as we swam around the bays of Mallorca we got to know the warm areas and also the horrible flows of cold current that would chill us to the bone.

Our third day was a 6 hour swim.  At breakfast that morning we were all very quiet.  You could sense the nerves and anticipation. We were like a squadron of pilots who had flown one mission too many. But everyone took on this challenge and everyone who set out to complete it did so.  We were dropped off in a bay with double beaches and for 6 hours we just looped around and around.  I have no idea what the holidaymakers on the sands made of us.  Swimming for half an hour would look odd, but 6 hours must have seemed surreal.  We were good swimmers and I guess they thought we must be some troop of weird athletes out for the day. Each circuit was maybe 2k and afterwards we could all discuss every feature of the sea bottom, right down to the shiny tent peg near the large chain (don't worry, you had to be there).

Looking back, now, it was such a huge achievement for us all, but by then we were so focused and just got it done.  6 hours swimming is about 18k for me - (about 40 k for my mentor Dave, who is far too fast and I will write more about over the next weeks.)  That is by anyone's standards a long swim.  It was a step into the unknown for me, but my body coped well and it has given me huge confidence.

There was one more hurdle for us and it came in an unexpected form.  The following day kicked off with a trip on the ribs to a new cove for a 2 hour recovery swim (yeah, right, "recovery" swim?  Recovery is about sleeping in and shovelling loads of grub down me while I read a book).  Off the boat we got and into the water.  I remember feeling so strong and euphoric as I ploughed through the water. Then it happened: I felt like I'd been whipped across the face. I was confused thinking that I had swum into metal wire or something similar.  Being light on self preservation I continued and nearly jumped out of the water as something electrocuted my thigh.  As I write I still have a large angry mark from that, almost two weeks later on.  We had swum into a  swarm of jellyfish.  Now check this out for clever thinking, we all turned back to the boat, finished our circuit and the swam another circuit and, guess what, got stung again.  Brilliant!

That was enough to get 14 of the 16 of us back on the boat and I was happy to stay.  But it was "King of the Channel" Kevin Murphy who pricked my conscience and suggested that swimming near jellyfish was good training for swimming the Channel.  I am a very simple, quite stupid person - indeed someone who would probably by out-intellectualised by the said jellyfish, so I accepted this piece of advice and got back in and began to swim.  That swim became one of the most tense hours of my life.  If there had been an underwater tobacconist I would have popped in for 20 B&H. My ensuing hyper vigilance meant that I escaped any more stings but I have now broken my jelly fish virginity.  Hmmm, I mean getting stung by one and not having carnal knowledge of them.

But you have to hand it to jellyfish, they really know how to freak out their target market.  I know they can't speak or do very much for themselves, but to an over active imagination like mine they are like alien life forces that glide through the ocean zapping unsuspecting humans.  I can't help thinking that they know exactly what they are doing and even have a whole design team behind them that make them look sinister and silent.  They must be pissing themselves laughing at the effect they have on us back in Jellyfish Towers.

                                    A truly talented group of people. Swim Trek 2014

Jellyfish included, the whole week has done me a huge amount of good.  Ten years ago I could only swim an approximation of breaststroke.  I had never been taught to swim and learning front crawl has been my only conscious attempt to learn something new as an adult (apart from guitar and I am really crap at that).  I have come on well, but without a swim background I have had no ability to reference myself as a swimmer.  This week has allowed me to see that I am not the best (that is reserved for people like Dave), but I am a decent swimmer and I do have a chance at swimming the Channel.  It's gone from being a long shot to a medium shot.  My biggest boost was on the last day when I was assessed by Kevin Murphy, swimmer of the Channel 34 times and a living legend. His summary has done more to buoy me up than anything else to date.  Thanks Kevin, you don't know how much that means to me.

                                            Kevin Murphy - King of the Channel 

But only time will tell......